


Left Myself Open

by zeropercent (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 15:51:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/zeropercent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sometimes, Dean needs to relinquish control.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Left Myself Open

**Author's Note:**

> [on [livejournal](http://zeropercent.livejournal.com/84610.html)]

Dean doesn’t think highly of himself. Sam knows how he feels like he’s not worth anything. So it’s his job to remind him that he’s important, valuable.

And now, Dean’s shaking, covered in dirt and blood. Sam feels a pang of sympathy for his brother. He doesn’t look like himself. Instead, he looks small, weak, scared. Sam walks up to him and slides his jacket from his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Dean buries his face into the crook of Sam’s neck, shutting his eyes tightly. Sam simply places a hand on the back of his head, gently carding his fingers through his hair.

He leads Dean into the bathroom, carefully removing his clothes, trying not to touch his bruises. He takes off his own clothes and turns the water on hot, pulling Dean against him in the tiny shower. Dean digs his nails into Sam’s back, and Sam presses his lips to his neck.

He grabs the bar of soap and rubs it onto Dean’s skin, watching as the filth from their hunt goes down the drain. Dean lets out a shaky breath and whispers Sam’s name. Sam shushes him, giving him a slight smile.

Sometimes, Sam’s hit with the fact that _Dean needs this_. Needs _him_. Dean. Independent, strong, witty Dean. Needs his little brother like he’s air.

Sam tries to finish quickly, but makes sure he does a thorough job. When he’s done, he dries Dean off and leads him back to the bed.

He grabs his things from his bag and raises Dean’s arms, cuffing him to the headboard.

_Gonna take care of you_ , he thinks, _gonna make sure you’re okay_. Dean looks up at him and curves his lips upwards a little as if he heard Sam’s thoughts. Sam leans down and presses his lips to the bruise on Dean’s shoulder, “It hurts, doesn’t it?”

Dean nods, “They all do.”

Sam takes his fingers and finds another bruise on Dean’s hip, sinks his nails in. Dean gasps and writhes under him, but Sam can see him getting hard. He shushes him and tries to kiss the sound out of him, licks his way into his mouth.

Dean’s tired. He’s so fucking tired. Sam can tell, and he wishes he could make it all better.

Sam wraps his hand around Dean’s cock, stroking once, slowly from base to tip. Dean makes a noise low in his throat and Sam does it again.

Dean looks up at him, shattered and Sam coos, “I know.” _Don’t worry, I’ve got you._

Sam reaches up, digging his nails into Dean’s chest and sliding them down, leaving red trails in their wake. Dean arches up into his touch, needy.

Sam grabs the lube and spreads some onto his fingers, slipping two into Dean. Dean whines and Sam says, “I know you can take it.” Even if he couldn’t, he’d probably like it anyway.

Strangely enough, this is how Dean unwinds.

Sam leans down, face to face with his brother, his fingers still working him open. He whispers, “It’s never about breaking you.”

He sees tears well up in Dean’s eyes and it’s strange. So unusual. Dean doesn’t cry. Ever. So why now?

Dean nods and bites his lower lip to keep it from trembling.

Sam kisses him then, unable to see Dean in such a wrecked state. “God, Dean,” he says, “we’ll be fine.” He pulls his fingers out and pushes in, making sure Dean can feel every inch. Dean clenches his fists and grits his teeth, shutting his eyes tightly.

Sam starts a fast rhythm, sliding in and out. It’s on the rough side, but he knows Dean likes it this way. Especially since his cock is leaking, leaving wet trails on his belly.

He touches Dean’s scars, tracing them. Dean shudders under him, turning his head in an attempt to hide himself. But it does nothing, of course, he’s still spread out for Sam. “It’s okay. This is okay.”

At first, it was weird. Sam didn’t think he could give his brother what he needed. He didn’t think he would be enough for him. But he realized that if it wasn’t him, Dean would fall apart at the seams.

Dean tugs at the restraints and Sam leans down to nip at his neck. He knows Dean has a love-hate relationship with the handcuffs. He loves being at Sam’s mercy, but he hates not being able to touch him.

Sam’s skin is so smooth and tan, unlike his, freckled and rough. Dean wants to reach out, wants to feel Sam. As if touching him will somehow bring back the innocence that Dean feels he took away. It wasn’t his fault, of course, being pushed into a job like this with a demanding father, it was hard being a kid. You have to grow up fast. _Need you_ , he thinks.

Sam’s hands are slightly calloused, from years of being a hunter. But they feel so good wrapped around his cock, trying to draw his orgasm from him. He’s close, so close, but Sam hasn’t said anything yet. It’s a rule, come when Sam tells him he can. Dean tries so hard, tries to be good for his brother.

“C’mon, Dean. Whenever you’re ready.”

Dean bucks his hips up into Sam’s fist and comes with a groan, throwing his head back. Sam keeps pumping his cock, making Dean cry out when he’s over sensitive. “Think you can come one more time? For me?”

Dean nods and Sam sees a tear fall from the corner of his eye. Sam knows how much it hurts to be pushed after an orgasm. He lets go of Dean’s cock, “Shh,” he kisses Dean’s cheek, “I’m not gonna make you do it again.” Dean lets out a rush of breath and Sam stares at him, concerned. Dean shakes his head and Sam sits back on his heels, getting himself off.

He comes in Dean moments later, pulling out and reaching up to run his thumb over Dean’s jaw. “It’s okay.” He grabs the key from the nightstand and unlocks the handcuffs, rubbing Dean’s sore wrists. He lies down next to his brother, burying his face in his hair. “You’re so good, Dean.”

Dean shuts his eyes, “Thanks, Sammy.” He feels sticky and dirty, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

Sam runs his fingers through Dean’s hair until he’s asleep, snoring softly against his neck.


End file.
